The White Mongoose
by Legacy Undying
Summary: After the war, Wizarding Britain begins to relax, only for a new evil to strike, one that can only be defeated by a hero that is named in a prophecy handed down by the Black family for years. The common theory is that Draco Malfoy is the unlucky winner. Only, after two years in Azkaban, Malfoy isn't willing to be a hero, even if Bill and Charlie are trying to win him over. Slash


Prologue

_The three women crouched in the back of the cart, hovering protectively over the covered contents. A fourth sat at the head of the cart, steering the horse. They scanned the tiny town of muggles and wizards. The conflict between the two hadn't reached this part of the world, then._

_Brynhild pushed the hood covering her face back, letting the autumn breeze dance its way through her black hair. Her eyes scanned the sky above the tops of the houses, looking for the goblin's stonghold. The flicker of magic teased at the corner of her eye, causing her to turn her head. The sight of towering columns graced her eyes for less than a second before it disapeared again._

_Gripping the reigns of the horse pulling the cart, she turned the beast in the direction of the columns._

_Her sisters, Alwilda, Gunhild, and Senta loosened their weapons in their sheaths, preparing for anything. Brynhild was proud of them._

_They sat in the cart and waited for the stonghold to appear. The women knew they had reached the place when the horse stopped walking. Despite the flick of the reigns, the animal would not move forwards._

_Instead of trying to force the animal, Brynhild released the reigns and climbed into the back of the cart. With the help of her sisters, she began to unload the cart. When all of the trunks were on the ground, she turned and walked to the barrier that had prevented the horse from going any further._

_Standing just beyond it, she shouted, "Lords of Grengods! I come to call upon the debt owed to my father, the great Lord Haerviu! He saved the lives of the High Goblin Lord, and now I, Brynhild, the eldest, call upon the debt owed by the goblins!"_

_She waited, letting her words hang in the air. She knew that they had heard her._

_When the barrier fell, it revealed a giant, temple-like building, with crooked columns, and gleaming white stone. She waited until she could see the entire building, and then she gestured for her sisters to begin carrying the trunks in between the columns._

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_The four sisters sat at the rather small table and watched the High Lord of Grengods, Ragnavok, think on what they'd said._

_He stood and walked to the fireplace, gazing into the flames for mere seconds before he turned and walked to the window, where he opened the sutters and leaned out, yelling something in Gobbledegook, the goblin language. When he was done shouting, he spun and went to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a small bottle of what Brynhild was sure was Mardkhora wine. Pulling out several small glasses, he went back to the table._

_Setting a glass in front of all four sisters, he poured wine into the bottom of the glass, only enough to cover the very bottom of the cup. When that was done, he poured himself the same amount._

_Lifting his glass, Ragnavok looked at the four sisters and grinned, his sharp teeth glinting at them in the firelight._

_"To the alliance of the stonghold of Grengods and the human holding of Black Marsh," his voice ground out. The sisters smiled as well, and lifted their glasses. All five downed the potent wine at the same time._

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_Brynhild watched as the final touches were put on the secret vault at the very back of what was soon to become the first family cavern dedicated to humans. The Black Marsh family was going to have to move much of their wealth here in order to hide the real purpose behind the building of the vault._

_She watched as the goblin carefully opened the trunks and removed the contents. Three sets of armour, two red like freshly spilled blood, and the third white like the snow at the very top of a mountain._

_The armours were put on stands, to prevent any damage, while the final, smallest, trunk was opened, and revealed its secret._

_A book, bound in leather from a creature that her father refused to identify, was pulled out gingerly. The pitch black book seemed to draw everyone's attention, regardless of whether or not they knew what it was. Brynhild, however, knew exactly what it was._

_Within the book's black pages, written in silver ink, were both the words of a prophecy too horrible to imagine, and the only hope for the only positive outcome._

_Spells that could only be read at night, rituals meant to bind spirits together, and ways to make the impossible as real as the sun._

_Brynhild shivered and walked forwards. Taking the book from the hands of the goblin who was holding it, she turned and placed it reverently on the stone pedestal that had been carved for this purpose. Once the book was firmly where it belonged, she turned and looked over at her three sisters, standing next to Ragnavok._

_They nodded and spun on their heels, walking away from the vault. All of the goblins involved in the preparations ignored her as they walked passed. When it was only her and Ragnavok left, the goblin spoke._

_"Is it truly neccesary for it to be this way?"_

_Brynhild knew that he was not asking out of concern, simply out of curiosity. She decided to tell him the truth._

_"Yes. There can be no chance of anyone but the Three getting into this place."_

_He looked at her with no expression. For several moments, they looked at each other, before the High Lord of Grengods nodded and walked to the large door. PLacing his hand on the metal, he murmured words that Brynhild couldn't hear, and probably wouldn't have understood anyway._

_The door swung closed on its own power, slowly cutting off her view of the world beyond the room she was in. Before it closed entirely, Brynhild pulled her helmet off of the floor and placed it over her head. That done, she drew her sword, holding it into the air, saluting the world she was about to leave forever._

_The door shut with a dull thud._

_In the small light of the torches left in the room, Brynhild stood firm. There was only one thing left to do._

_She turned her sword around and thrust in into the ground directly between two of the flagstones that made the floor. Hands resting on the pinions, she stood in full armour, knowing that she would die in this place that was a shrine to someone who would not be born for centuries._


End file.
